Bitter
by yoeman.prince
Summary: The gentle stroke of his thumb was eliciting a most intriguing response from the Dean of Medicine


**Bitter: Ships passing in the Night**

**Disclaimer:**_ House is not mine. I wish it were, but alas._

_**A/N: **I hope you enjoy this one-shot. No established relationship, just the regular House/Cuddy wonderfulness. Doesn't take place during any particular time period. Originally I thought about posting this under my series "House Stalked Cuddy" but it didn't quite seem to fit. Please let me know what you think: love it or leave it... let me know._

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The cotton pillow case scratched her soft cheek, as Cuddy tried to snuggle into sleep. It wasn't working. She smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and squinted towards the glowing numbers on her clock. Another half an hour had passed and she was no closer to sleep. Her head came crashing back onto the pillow and her eyes stared up towards the ceiling and into the darkness, a deep sigh of frustration escaping her. Cuddy smacked her lips again the bitter taste remained at the back of her mouth. She'd already eaten a snack and brushed her teeth—twice, but the aftertaste of vodka was heavy on her tongue. It was bitter, yet somehow pleasing.

She didn't drink vodka often for this very reason. The taste was bitter and damn hard to get rid of. It hung around, a sad shadow of the former warmth provided by the alcohol and haunting the buzz that soon followed a neat shot. Collapsing into a pillow her body slowly relaxed remembering the tingling associated with that wonderful drink. And other thoughts stirred within her. As the thoughts drifted by she drew closer and closer to slumber.

Her eyes were shut tight against the darkness against the world apart from her imagination. She felt something rough. Her skin recognized it as a thumb, moving gently across her cheek. She smiled into the touch, remembering the last time a warm hand cupped her face lovingly. It was strange that his hands should be rough. Her brow furrowed in concentration, reasoning through this small snag. Ahh, the motorcycle. She never had seen him wear gloves. His hands must be chapped from the cold air.

Her black hair partially hid her face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so relaxed. She looked older than he remembered, tired. A twinge, only a twinge, of guilt pulled at him when he realized this was mostly due to his stunts. Although running an entire hospital was bound to be stressful; his efforts most likely tripled the amount of work and stress associated with the job of administrator.

Without a second thought he reached down pushing a rebellious strand of hair from her face, as he did so his thumb brushed against her cheek. He'd forgotten how smooth her porcelain skin was. He grinned as she unconsciously leaned into his touch and was surprised by the pleasant smile that graced her lips at the contact. House gently lowered himself onto the coffee table without breaking contact. He stared mesmerized by her sleeping form.

Even with her eyes firmly shut his image swam before her and she couldn't help but smile. She shouldn't, she knew it, but she really couldn't help it. She liked him. Oh, he definitely made her mad as a hornet; his confidence and egoism were absolutely infuriating. However, there was something comforting in his self-assurance. This too she knew was somehow wrong. She shouldn't find it comforting at all. He was her enemy number one. That's the only reason why he plagued her every thought. Keep your enemies close. House—close. "Mmmm," she mumbled.

The gentle stroke of his thumb was eliciting a most intriguing response from the dean of medicine. He yearned to increase the contact, boldly allowing his hand to rest against her now slightly blush cheek. It fit like a glove.

She sighed contented, her eyes fluttering. Cuddy thought she saw him sitting across from her. _No. Not possible. You're dreaming. Yes, I'm dreaming—only in my dreams._ Her body relaxed as it accepted her mind's explanation. And she began talking to the imaginary House. If it was just a dream, no harm could come from talking.

"You came," Lisa gurgled. Greg froze, his entire being stiffening in apprehension. _He'd been caught!_ He wisely refrained from making any sudden movements, including removing his hand from her face. She sighed contently.

"I'm glad," again her speech was muddled and only slightly louder than a whisper, though it was heavily laced with emotion. It was with this admission that Greg realized she was talking in her sleep. _This ought to be good. _He decided to see where it would lead and began to stroke her cheek with his thumb. Her sleepy yawn morphed into a sigh and then a lazy hazy smile.

"I like vodka." He had to repress a snort at her declaration. She continued, "It makes me feel…" her words melted into a wide grin, which he most aptly smirked at. She smacked her lips again. She continued her speech low and full of sleep. And House couldn't help but be turned on by the sexiness of her gravely voice. "And its taste… starts out fiery; warming you down to your toes." Lisa snuggled her head into the pillow and crinkled her toes. Then her bottom lip dropped forward in a pout, "but it leaves a very bitter taste, which should be most un—_and she yawned_—pleazzent…" a deep sigh and then another sly smile. "Instead it's an extended reminder…"

_So, Cuddy's hit the bottle_, House thought to himself. _I wonder…_

While she pontificated on the merits of vodka, her mind was working out the similarities between this beverage and the man she imagined before her. She liked him. He made her feel… and his taste was fiery and strong, sensations racing like electricity down to her toes when their skin touched. Their encounters left one or both bitter. The unpleasantness which remained only served as a constant reminder of the passion between them and the previous pleasantries of the past. She wondered. _Would she ever feel his hand on her face? Would he ever dare kiss her? Had the formality of their professional relationship pushed him away, so much so that…?_

As he wondered House observed the sadness that descended on her delicate features highlighting the care worn lines etched into her Athenian beauty. His attraction was too great and before he knew exactly what he was doing, he'd impulsively leaned forward placing his lips tenderly to her forehead. It was only upon contact that he became aware of his actions and a light blush creped up his neck and he slowly pulled away.

Lisa's eyes shone keenly in the dark living room. Her mind snapped into action. The sound, much like that of a door being pulled shut had awoken her. She refocused to the empty space on the coffee table before her. _Only in my dreams._ Cuddy sighed and collected herself shuffling back to her bedroom. She'd moved to the couch hoping that a change in venue would bring her closer to sleep. No such luck, though the traces of a most pleasant dream floated round the edge of her fuzzy thoughts. She vaguely remembered it was something to do with House, yes…hmmm, House and something pleasant. She really did need some Z's, those incongruous ideas pointed towards her growing dementia due to lack of sleep.

House leaned his forehead against the cold of Cuddy's front door. Regret tugged at him for all the time lost to them. The pain in his leg stirred him from his thoughts. He withdrew a white pill from his front pocket. He stared at it before swallowing it dry. Smacking his tongue to the roof of his mouth the bitter taste of vicodin lingering like vodka… he smiled slyly.

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_**A/N: **Just in case I was too subtle. Comparison between House and the vodka. Bitter memory of the excitement and pleasure of earlier experience. Bittersweet memories. Review if you fancy, I do!_


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